Too Intense
by Xiah-sensei
Summary: SLASH WARNING-TWO SHOT- Old friends come back to haunt John and Sherlock finds himself caught up in the middle of it. But Logan Peters is a force to be reckoned with and he's got some unfinished business with our good doctor...
1. Chapter 1

****A/N: sorry peeps, made John a little OOC... okay I over did him a bit on the gay side but if you're a slashing lover (which I'm sure you are otherwise you would not be reading this!) then you'll be fine.****

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><p>Too Intense<p>

Sequel to 'Revenge'

**2 days after Sherlock's departure**

The front room shone with an eerie blue light from their telly. John was currently tucked into Sherlock's favourite armchair and watching their plasma TV on the opposite wall. John had spent the money wisely, well, he'd thought he had. Sherlock had thought that the television wasn't a good investment but after the Connie Prince murder he had wanted to keep some of his concentration on the television for anything that could be useful.

"Want more from your deodorant?" An invisible woman asked John in a wonderfully annoying sing-song voice while another, pretty brunette showed a totally uninteresting view of her cleanly shaven and tanned armpit. John nibbled at his biscuit and absentmindedly tucked his feet underneath himself. "Not really." He answered her rhetorical question. He sighed and picked up the remote control flicking through the channels. The flat had been fairly quiet since Sherlock had left for a case. It wasn't a very large case and John hadn't wanted to go anyway, Australia's too far. Who knew where it would take him after meeting with the vice president of some Korean entertainment agency. When Sherlock had gotten the phone call and spent the whole time conversing with the person in Korean John had left to catch a late night movie at the cinema. He couldn't be arsed with concerns about other countries. Not that he didn't care, not at all, but he didn't concern himself with matters in other countries when there were much bigger problems right on his doorstep as Sherlock reminded him on a daily basis.

John sighed and turned the telly off from the remote in his hand. The muscles of his fingers went limp and he dropped the remote with a small clank onto the coffee table. It had been quiet since Sherlock had left. Too quiet. He didn't like the silence his life fell into when Sherlock was gone. He wanted to make a life for himself so that he didn't _entirely_ rely on Sherlock for his excitement… wait, that came out wrong… he meant for his… er… never mind.

He finished off his biscuit and stood on protesting legs. _I really shouldn't sit like that in future_, he thought idly, _it does nothing for my poor muscles_. He trudged over to his laptop, plonked down noisily on the wooden chair and opened it. He checked his emails first; one from Sarah – not surprising, she hadn't left him alone much since Sherlock left – another from some patients asking personal questions – great, that's a distraction – and… one from someone he didn't recognise. Curiosity got the better of him and he opened the email. It was from Mike Stamford. _Odd_, John thought as he quickly scanned over the email. _Why would Mike be emailing me now I wonder?_ He thought. Mike Stamford was inviting him to go for a drink at the pub on Thursday. That was tomorrow. And Sherlock wasn't back yet. John shrugged for his nonexistent audience and tapped the laptop with his blunt fingernails. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to get out a bit more." He muttered quietly. He gently snapped his laptop shut and plodded past his favourite arm chair into the kitchen. He'd cleared off all of the beakers and equipment when Sherlock had left yesterday. It had just been one very long, very tiring day of clearing out. Honestly, Sherlock kept so much crap in their apartment it was almost unbelievable. You would've thought that because he can 'delete' information out of his 'hard drive' that he would be able to get rid of useless crap from the apartment without any trouble, but apparently not. Sherlock Holmes was well known for his unpredictability… and now sentimentally for useless crap like that bloody skull. John did wonder when that skull _wouldn't _scare him half to death when he came down for breakfast in the morning.

John turned suddenly when he noticed a suspiciously human looking shadow from the corner of his eye. The curtains rustled from the cool, evening breeze that blew through the apartment but there was no one else there. John tried to slow his heart, to stop the adrenaline from pumping around his system but he couldn't. Someone had been there, he was sure of it. In fact, he'd almost been expecting it. Being the only person living in Sherlock's flat while he was away would be the perfect opportunity for someone to kidnap him and blackmail Sherlock. After all, it has happened before. He shuddered as he remembered the night at the pool when he had had a bomb strapped to his chest. It was terrifying. No matter how long you spend getting shot at by soldiers from other countries you never can quite be prepared to be in the middle of a struggle between two geniuses and some Semtex.

John sighed and treaded carefully toward the window. The curtains were blowing out and into the front room like some ominous portent. John wasn't stupid, or rather he hadn't been deprived of horror movies, he knew the line. "I'm sure that was closed a minute ago." He couldn't help but say it anyway. Call him a sucker for danger but he just couldn't seem to stop himself. John almost found it funny. He slid the window shut and put the curtains back into place before turning slowly back to the front room. Without noticing, the room had gotten a lot darker than when he'd first sat down to watch some telly. It was making him nervous. "Maybe I'll just," he paused and sighed audibly, "go to bed."

He winced when he brushed the mug he'd been drinking from onto the floor with a crack. He sighed again and bent to pick it up. He was being very jumpy, which was understandable considering someone had just broken in. Who knew where they were now. They could still be in the flat. John winced again and glanced around the front room cautiously. If they were still here, did he want to go looking for them? The answer to that question almost popped out of his mouth it was so obvious. No, he did not want to look for who ever had broken into the apartment with the skill of a ninja. That, to John, should have been equally understandable. So, instead, he text Mycroft. Mycroft did have cameras all over the apartment, which apart from making him shiver in revulsion at the intrusion, was a slight help when matters like this decided to arise.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and made his way up the stairs. Considering the fact that whoever was there hadn't bothered to make their presence known meant – to John – that they obviously weren't here for him or that they just didn't want to see him. If the _person_ had gone into Sherlock's bedroom he couldn't get to him anyway, there were booby traps and large signs going all the way down the hall to that room. John did suffer from slight curiosity… okay, not slight, big… he was _very _curious about what Sherlock was hiding behind his closed doors. Grinning to himself with mischief he slipped into his room after ascending the stairs and began undressing. Sherlock's absence could work in his favour. If the _person_ had gone into Sherlock's room, he'd want that _person_ out, right? So, John was helping. And when Sherlock asked why he'd been in his room – because he _would_ find out, probably straight away – he could say that someone had broken in and he had to check the whole flat for the bugger. Yep, that was a good enough excuse. He finished dressing into his pyjama trousers and a worn out white vest and sighed quietly again while picking out his torch and Browning L9A1 from the top drawer of his bedside table. The mission impossible theme tune played slowly through his head as he crept down the stairs and entered the front room. Tiptoeing toward the corner leading to the kitchen he heard the clink of various beakers accidentally being brushed against each other. John smirked shakily; it seemed that the _person_ wasn't taking much care, probably thinking John was still up in his room. He flinched when one of the floor boards gave a groan under his light feet. _Stupid old house,_ John thought bitterly. He heard a crash and then a yelp and before he knew it something streaked across the front room – and in front of him – and out of the window. John pointed the Browning at the window ledge as he saw the disappearing face of a tanned, cheeky looking… boy? Girl? He couldn't decide. They'd looked… Mediterranean. He turned back into the kitchen and saw that Sherlock's bedroom door _was _wide open. He cautiously stepped toward but stopped dead still when he heard 'do it like a dude [1]' play loudly from the kitchen table. He inhaled deeply, the fear receding slightly when he saw his mobile innocently perched on the hard wood tabletop. He cursed Sarah for fiddling about with his new phone without him realising. That bloody ring tone would be the death of him one day. He picked it up and glanced once at the screen of his IPhone 3GS before sliding his finger across the slider and lifting the phone to his ear. He wasn't the first to speak, _"what's going on?"_ Came the impatient greeting from none other than the youngest Holmes brother.

"What? How on Earth did you-" John spluttered in confusion.

"_Myrcroft contacted me. Keep up, John."_

John sighed, "someone broke in." He said drawing out a chair at the dining table.

"_I need specifics, Dr Watson."_ He growled through the phone. John stared in front of him in surprised silence.

"What are you so angry about?" John asked stunned at the use of his title and surname.

"_John,"_ Sherlock murmured quietly through the phone, _"What… is going on?"_ John was a little unnerved by the obvious strain in his voice. _Is he angry at me?_ He thought in confusion. _No, there was no reason for him to be_. Was he worried? Why would he be worried anyway? Because someone was in his room? John scoffed lightly into the phone to try and release some of the tension.

"Don't worry I'll check that nothing was stolen from your room." John moved to stand but a sharp command in his ear stopped all movement completely.

"_No!"_ The snapped order made a cold shiver slid down John's spine as he waited for an explanation. Sherlock didn't appear to want to give an explanation.

"Why?" John spoke softly even though he wasn't sure why. The silence he was greeted with on the other end of the phone was eerie and uncomfortable. Why would Sherlock want John to keep out of his stuff so badly? What was he hiding in there? "You know," John said smirking as he could almost hear Sherlock's scowl, "if you don't give me an explanation I'll just go on in there to see."

The answer was quick and John almost didn't catch it. _"I have some… things in there I don't want anyone to know about."_

John nodded and sighed in defeat. He couldn't take away Sherlock's privacy like that. "Okay, that's fine. You can check when you come back."

John could almost _feel _the relief he was sure Sherlock was emanating from himself. Instead of calming his nerves, it only seemed to get John more uncomfortable. There must be something really _weird _in there for Sherlock to get so worked up about it. Most of the things he owned were weird but he never seemed to get this agitated over the head in the fridge.

"_Have you called the police?" _Sherlock asked and John could hear that his reassurance had put Sherlock in a better mood. That knowledge alone put John in a better mood and began picking at the table top absentmindedly.

"No, I didn't think I needed to. He already left."

Silence. John could feel the anger and winced when he heard Sherlock stand so fast he knocked something onto the floor with a crash. What was wrong with him anyway? Seriously weird mood swings. _"John how could you be so moronic? Why didn't you shoot him?"_

John's eyes widened in shock for a moment. "Shoot him? Why would I shoot him? It was just a robber."

He could tell Sherlock was seething on the other end of their conversation… or more accurately… argument. _"It is never that simple John! He could've planted a bomb in my room knowing I'd tell you to keep out!"_ And despite how frantic Sherlock sounded he hadn't raised his voice.

John let out a bark of laughter as he remembered the kid's mischievous expression. "I don't think I have to worry about that."

"_Why the hell not?"_ Hm, he was beginning to raise his voice now and he was cursing. That was new.

"Because it was just a kid. I really don't think a kid that grinned at me when he was going out the window thought about all of what you just said." Sherlock didn't seem as convinced of the kid's innocence as John was.

"_John," _He snapped out his voice sounding low and dangerous. John shuddered and felt warm blood heat his cheeks from beneath his skin. _"Call the police, now."_

John sighed dramatically even though he was scared shitless of this new, dangerous Sherlock. "I don't need to-" He paused mid sentence noticing a slip of card resting in the middle of the kitchen table. He blinked in confusion and looked around the room for any sign of someone else but found none. _Huh,_ John thought with amusement, _I'm not that observant today_. "Hold on there's a note here."

"_John…" _Sherlock muttered again, the dangerous tone of his voice turning slightly icy but John refused to shiver again. Sherlock didn't say another word; he was probably just as curious as John as he reached across to the white card in the centre of the table. The lettering was fancy and there was a simple swirly pattern around the edge of card. It appeared to be an invitation.

Sherlock seemed to get impatient with John's lack of response, _"well? What is it?"_

John stared at the card in confused surprise as he began to read the invitation out to Sherlock. "Dr Watson you have been invited to a ball being hosted at the Grand Manor in Essex on Friday 22nd of April. A car will arrive at your flat in Baker Street at precisely 7 o'clock to take you and a guest of your choice. The car will then drop you back at Baker Street by 11 o'clock." John stopped abruptly realising that there was no more information on the small card. He flipped it over but there was nothing else on the back either.

Sherlock seemed to be agitated about this too, _"is there nothing more?"_

John shrugged but then realised he was on the phone and voiced his opinion. "No, there isn't anything else. It's seems a bit strange, doesn't it? That there's nothing about the host to RSVP. It's almost as if they expect me to go."

"_Of course they expect you to go John."_ Sherlock said with a patronising sigh. _"They got someone to break into your apartment with the invitation; they're expecting you to be curious enough to attend. However, it's obvious that they don't want you to know the host which most likely means it is being organised by the government or some secret organised crime sect. More likely it is the government because as far as I am aware you have no connections with criminals."_

John could hear the slight smirk in his voice at the last comment. John huffed in annoyance. Why would he find it amusing that he didn't know any criminals? _Oh, he's referring to my 'queen and country' attitude again, isn't he? Bastard,_ he thought. "Right, well, that's just great." John said with a sigh. "What do they want this time?"

"_This time?" _Sherlock asked surprise lacing his voice. _"They've tried to contact you before?"_

John suddenly got a flashback of his meeting with Logan Peters in the café a couple of weeks ago. He sighed and almost smacked his forehead for being so dense. "Well, not really," John chose his words carefully. "Remember the day you were wrecking revenge on me for leaving you with my sister-"

"_And getting attacked."_

"What?" John asked.

"_I was punishing you for being attacked and for being late."_

John rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay fine. That day when you were punishing me for… lots of things-" John heard Sherlock chuckle quietly on the other end, all the way in Korea he assumed. _Oh, yeah, I really should ask,_ he thought idly.

"_Carry on, John."_

"Right, sorry," He shook his head to rid the other thoughts and focus on the point of his flashback explanation. "Right, well, that day – while I was with Sarah in the café – I fell asleep, or I was drugged I'm not really sure and-"

"_Drugged?" _Sherlock said flatly but John could hear the underlying anger.

"Let me finish!" John snapped out angrily. He couldn't deal with anymore of these weird mood swings. When he didn't hear any protest he continued, "well, when I woke up these men were there, they were wearing suits so I assumed they worked for the government plus I… used to know one of them. Logan Peters was my old gunnery sergeant back in Afghanistan but he was promoted to secret service… that's how I met them. We… oh, don't worry about that, it's another, longer story…" John trailed off and was greeted by Sherlock's silence on the other end.

"_Logan Peters?"_ Sherlock asked. _"I don't know that name."_

John chuckled bitterly. "Why would you? He's working in a very secretive part of the government. An even more secret part of the secret service."

"_What did he want when he came to see you?" _Sherlock asked but John could tell that thousands of possibilities were running through his head about why.

John shrugged again but it was mostly for his own benefit. He needed to feel nonchalant about this situation with his old gunnery sergeant if he wanted to sound nonchalant when speaking to Sherlock. "I didn't stay long enough to find out. Actually, I didn't ask, I didn't want to know. All he said was 'come with us' but then I walked out. Shortly after I got a text from you so I just left for the flat."

Sherlock was silent as he considered this new piece of information then he sighed as if talking to a child who can't spell their name correctly, _"you really should've asked, John.."_

"Yes, yes," John muttered, "I've heard this before."

Sherlock made a small surprised sound, _"heard what before?"_

John rolled his eyes, "the 'I expected more of you John' look and the little speech to go with it."

Sherlock didn't reply to that comment and instead changed the subject entirely, _"I'm coming back tomorrow."_

John was still caught up in the earlier conversation so it took him longer than Sherlock to respond, "Oh, right. How did the case go?"

"_It's an ongoing investigation." _He said in his typical 'I know all' drawl, _"I'm more curious about your party."_

"Oh?" John said with a smile. He decided a bit of teasing wouldn't be too bad, "so you're assuming you're going, are you?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone, _"I'm assuming you'd like to have answers as to why the government is so intent on making you a civil servant."_

John resister the urge to chuckle, "Well, what if they want me to spy on you? Maybe I should take Sarah…"

Sherlock scoffed, _"Oh, please, spare me. She'll mix and mingle with the utterly manipulative and self-centred members of the government and you won't get anywhere closer to your answers. You need someone who will get straight to the point. She'll just skirt around it."_

For some weird reason John didn't think Sherlock was talking about the party anymore, but he didn't press it further. He was just teasing Sherlock anyway. Sarah had become very… ah, what's the word…. clingy these past few weeks. Sending texts asking him where he was and who he was with. The comfortable stage in their relationship had been reached and John was discovering that Sarah was more comfortable making him uncomfortable.

"Alright," John said with a sigh, "I'll take you."

Sherlock didn't find it funny which John could tell by the irritated sharpness to his voice, _"I'll be at the apartment by 6 o'clock."_

John was surprised, "you're not leaving a lot of time to change."

"_I'll be ready before I arrive."_ And with that last sweeping statement he hung up the phone. Sherlock was never known to be very social so when he wanted to stop talking he did. _That was probably the longest conversation Sherlock has ever had on the phone_, John mused carrying the phone, torch and gun back up to his bedroom.

Tomorrow would be very, very interesting.

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed it. If you didn't, do tell me. I like making my fics about JOCK jokey and taking the mick quite a bit so I just realised I've made this chapter get more intense than I thought I wanted.. but then again i did name is 'too intense'... God i'm confused right now, where was I?<strong>

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Okay, so I don't know if anyone noticed but I changed the summary. I realised that the story was _far _too dark and suggestive and a little gory to be crack (which most of mine are) so if you were looking forward to crack, hard luck. You're stuck with this.

It's INTENSE. Get it? Coz its called TOO INTENSE, huh? Huh? Oh forget it...

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><p><strong>Too Intense<strong>

Chapter 2

"How could I have been so stupid?" John muttered to himself when the valet drove away with the car. Everyone who'd greeted them so far had assumed that they were a couple and Sherlock never put them right. John just laughed nervously and assured them they were mistaken. It got him very annoyed whenever the quest would just give a knowing smile and a wink as if they thought they knew. John didn't even know. Everything that was happening this evening was strange and foreign. John didn't particularly take kindly to not understanding things. Sherlock would keep giving him weird looks whenever he'd start chatting with some random person to pass the time. He didn't understand it all.

When he'd got back, Sherlock hadn't mentioned the incident over the phone. He never mentioned it, which made John nervous. It meant that it was coming. He was saving his frustration for something and John was anxious about what he was planning. Of course Sherlock would have a plan. He always did and with the stupid pranks he often played on John as revenge for the most _trivial _things, Sherlock was bound to have something big in store. It made John uneasy.

Once about half an hour of niceties and conversations past by John was abruptly pulled away from the crowd and into an alcove between to pillars. The space was smaller than John appreciated but at least he got a good look at Sherlock's meaningful grey eyes before he got a lecture. This was bound to come.

Sherlock took a deep breath and glanced down at me before quickly looking away. _Odd_, John thought as he glanced at the detective's nervous hands clutching the sides of his coat. John raised a quizzical brow, _very odd indeed. _

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and almost glared down at John. Both John's eyebrows rose simultaneously, "what have I done now?"

Sherlock's angry gaze got colder and John cursed himself mentally for being so stupid. This was obviously something difficult for Sherlock no matter what it was. He couldn't seem to put it into words. "I," Sherlock stared swallowing, it seemed, whatever had been stopping him from speaking before, "I was really… worried about you."

"Worried?" He asked in shock. "You were worried about me? Why?"

Sherlock's glare turned deathly and John realised that perhaps he should just keep his mouth shut from now on, "The other day… when I called you. You where… irritatingly cryptic."

"Cryptic?" So, obviously, John had to open his big mouth again, "what was I cryptic about? I told you everything."

Sherlock almost snarled. His lip curled and his nose crinkled as if he'd just smelled something disgusting. John did _not_ like that look being directed at him. "You… kept things from me. You didn't tell me about that Logan Peters and you…" He closed his eyes and looked down, "_withheld_ the information about your relationship with him."

"Oh," John said quietly when Sherlock didn't raise his head. "You weren't just worried, were you?"

Sherlock lifted his head to pin John with another of his intense, meaningful silver stares, "not… entirely."

John nodded slowly, understanding dawning on him. He'd been jealous. He could see that now. Obviously the realisation had come reluctantly to John but the look in Sherlock's eyes when he looked away couldn't have been mistaken. "We were good friends. I covered for him when he did something terrible because I thought it was an accident. It really wasn't."

Sherlock's expression was unreadable but he moved a little closer and held onto John's wrists, trying to be comforting. John realised this and let him. "What did he do?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John could feel Sherlock's warm breath on his cheeks and he closed his eyes. Sherlock's presence was a lot more comforting than he'd imagined possible. "He," John had to swallow around the lump in his throat before he could continue without breaking, "he killed someone in our regiment. He told me the guy had attacked him first and he'd fallen off the roof after trying to push him off it. I defended him… it was only afterward that I realised that the evidence was all against him. I went back to the sergeant at the time and tried to take back my statement but they weren't interested. He'd already gotten his 'friends' to help him out. I couldn't do anything."

Sherlock hesitantly pressed his forehead against John's and John opened his eyes in surprise. Liquid silver met clear blue.

"It wasn't your fault." He murmured in his deep bass. John swallowed down the sickeningly fluttering butterflies that suddenly erupted in his stomach. _How light could Sherlock's eyes be anyway_? He thought in wonder. It shouldn't even be possible.

Without realising John's hands had fisted themselves in the upper arms of Sherlock's trench coat and Sherlock's hands seemed to have drifted down to slide underneath John's suit jacket. The hands on John's waist were warm and large and as Sherlock's eye lids slid down over his crystal silver eyes he felt those hands pull him closer. John's whole body was at war with itself. The hands, the breath on his cheek that smelt like peppermint and spices and the warm, toe-curling feeling that was slowly spreading as Sherlock leaned down enough so their lips just barely ghosted over each others; they were all reasons why John _should not _be doing this. This was _Sherlock_! His flat-mate and increasingly annoying best friend, he couldn't _possibly _enter into a romantic _relationship_ with him! That would be too absurd! He was married to his work anyway. _I hope Sherlock stops soon_, John thought in dismay, _because I don't think I could do it._

But right then he knew what was coming. It would take someone with serious brain damage not to realise the comprising position they'd let themselves get into. And it was hardly comforting to realise that they were having such an intimate experience with hundreds of high-up government officials possibly tut'ing at them from the ball room.

John's eyes slid closed when Sherlock pressed the softest and briefest kiss to the corner of his mouth before a loud, booming voice ruined the moment.

As quick as lightening Sherlock had jerked back and John was left with empty hands and a cold sting in his heart before Sherlock pulled him by the wrist into the throng of people. Sherlock didn't say anything, he didn't even look at John but John noticed the way his cheeks where a little pink and his hand twitched around John's wrist. He hadn't been impervious to that little _encounter _and they both knew it. What was more concerning was the fact that they'd have to talk about it when they got back to the flat. Or… what if Sherlock didn't want to talk about it? What if he just dismissed it as a momentary lapse of judgement? That sounded like something Sherlock would do.

John frowned, disturbed. He didn't want Sherlock to brush this under the carpet. No matter what had happened or what will happen John resolved himself to talk to Sherlock about this when they got back. No matter it Sherlock went into a sulk and shut himself in his room, he'd just break down the door and tie him to a chair. _It shouldn't be too hard_, thought John distractedly; _Sherlock is a real girl when fighting anyway_. Smiling to himself John directed his attention back to the man at the front of the group all the while acutely aware that Sherlock still had a firm grip of his wrist.

With a jolt John recognised the person addressing the crowd. Logan Peters. That son of a bitch.

"Ladies and gentlemen I'm sure you are all eagerly awaiting the topic of this… gathering." Logan stared directly at John when he said his next words, "and perhaps we should start the auction now."

Suddenly Sherlock's grip on his wrist tightened and he pulled them both to the side of the room. Logan's eyes never left his face, "we should go. Now." Sherlock murmured urgently.

Confused John yanked his wrist from Sherlock's grip, "wait."

"No, that's really not a good idea –" Sherlock whispered frantically.

John rounded on him angrily, "why?" He hissed, "why is it not a good idea?"

Sherlock didn't answer, he didn't even look like he was going to before Logan began bellowing once more, "and so the first item is Little Guy. This atomic bomb is almost identical to Little Boy which destroyed Hiroshima all those years ago." A disgusting smile curled at Logan's lips. "And quite some damage it did too. Shall we started the bidding at $100 000?"

John's world went red. Atomic bomb similar to Hiroshima? This wasn't a government party it was a black market auction. "Fuck." John hissed through clenched teeth glaring daggers at Peters. He was still smirking down at him from his small stage.

A man from within the crowd raised an inquiring hand and John turned with a stiff neck toward him. "How powerful is this bomb?" The Russian lilt was unmistakable, "I'm sure all of us would like to know of its… possibilities, ourselves. We weren't all there when Hiroshima went up."

John lurched forward to clobber the guy as a ripple of laughter spread through the masses. Sherlock held him back with an arm securely around his waist. "Don't. Be patient." Sherlock murmured against his hair reassuringly. John was done with being patient. Peters was a dead man walking even if he didn't know it yet.

"Of course," Logan said with another sly smirk, "Little Guy explodes with the same energy as 13 – 19 kiltons of TNT which is equivalent to 54 and 75 TJ. We have a demonstration of TNT to give you an idea of the damage it could cause. We also have a 3D demonstration with Little Guy in action."

John couldn't listen anymore. He ripped himself from Sherlock's strange embrace and almost sprinted for the entrance hall. It was fairly the same as the ball room except it had a deep burgundy runner that curved around with the corridor on each side. He strode to the door but the doorman were securely placed so he couldn't get near the door. John glared at the tall men with all he had. "You don't want to get messed up in this. I'm really pissed." He growled at them.

They didn't make any move, if anything they looked _amused_. Well, John'd give them something to laugh at!

When Sherlock arrived on the scene one of the doormen were sprawled out on the floor in a dazed heap and John had the other in a firm headlock. Sherlock took a second to admire the scene and be a little… what was the word…. proud? No, that couldn't be it.

John didn't miss the look and after the doorman was safely unconscious he let him drop to the floor along with his colleague. The rage still boiled inside him and he didn't think he could deal with Sherlock's dismissive attitude.

Sherlock just looked concerned though and John felt the need to reassure him in the only way he could at the moment; tell him the plan. "Logan Peters is going to die."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He looked down at the runner, then back at the open doors to the hall. He opened his mouth to say something but his mouth suddenly turned into a passive line when a loud voice boomed across the hall.

"Dr John Watson! How I've missed you old friend!"

John moved slightly and stared with horror at Logan Peters standing directly behind Sherlock with a gun pressed firmly into the back of his neck. Sherlock was still staring directly ahead of himself with his passive look. John plastered on his poker face and his eyes flickered from Sherlock back to Peters.

"What do you want Peters?" John snarled between his gritted teeth.

"To tie up some loose ends." Peters said with a sinister smirk. "Come on, boys." He said placing a large hand on Sherlock's thin shoulder and gripping it tightly, "let's go somewhere more private."

Peters pushed Sherlock forward down the right corridor. Sherlock's expression never changed and John was sure he was coming up with a plan. _He has to be, otherwise we're dead._ John thought desperately.

"So, little John," Peters drawled moving his hand further up Sherlock's shoulder until it gripped the crook of his neck tightly. "Turned cock sucker now, have we?"

John tasted bile and was about to answer with something very unsavoury when Peters pushed the neck of the gun into the back of Sherlock's head where his skull met his neck. "Take care with your answer, Dr Watson." Peters drawled, "My finger might just slip." His waggled his finger on the trigger and John winced.

The corridor was narrowing. John made a snap decision. "Yes." John said with a determined expression. John noticed Sherlock glanced briefly in his direction, probably out of surprise. "And you would know." John said. The comment was heavy with suggestion.

Without warning Sherlock was thrown into a guards waiting arms and John was abruptly pounded around the head three times with the butt of Peters' pistol.

"You useless little faggot!" Peters shouted bringing the butt of the gun down on John's head again.

The world went black for John Watson.

Sherlock gritted his teeth but his expression didn't change. How could he give away his position in the game so easily? Exactly, he couldn't. That wouldn't help him and it certainly wouldn't help the now unconscious John.

Peters stood over John who was slumped against the wall lifelessly. Everything about Peters' gait, stance and expression screamed emotionally unstable and it made Sherlock uneasy. He fidgeted in the guards grip and it tightened around his arms on his back. Sherlock hissed in pain and Peters turned his sharp eyes on him.

"And then there was one." Peters said with another sinister smirk. Sherlock had deduced far earlier the whole reason John was invited. Plus the startlingly obvious admission that Peters was going to 'tie up loose ends'; they all pointed toward one solid conclusion, Peters wanted to kill John tonight. But, being the curious genius he was, he didn't take advantage of the guards' bad back or Peters obvious balancing issues.

Peters stalked toward him with a predatory smile and Sherlock was beginning to wonder if his deduction about their murder was, in fact, true. After all John had been right, most of the time he guessed, unpredictability was something that always got in his way.

When Peters was close enough to be able to smell the stale cigarette smoke on his breath he smiled wide and motioned for the guard to grab John off the floor. "Follow me." He said to the guard with the gun now firmly pressed into Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock was irritated, knowing that the gun would leave a bruise on his pale skin but didn't make any indication it bothered him. He just needed to play this out and see where it went, and more importantly find a way out without endangering John.

"So," Peters began, almost conversationally, "how long have you been fucking the good doctor?"

Sherlock wouldn't give in that easily. "What do you plan on doing with John before you kill him?" The guard carrying John open double doors at the end of the corridor into a dimly lit study. The study was decorated in deep burgundy and woody brown colours and there were many paintings and statues around the room with one, solitary desk squarely in the centre of the room facing the door.

Peters pushed Sherlock to stand beside the chair in front of the desk, the guard threw John into the chair beside Sherlock and Peters rounded the desk to stand with his palms firmly against the wood and leaning menacingly toward them.

"I may choose not to answer your question if you choose not to answer mine." He said with another menacing smirk.

"That sounds fair." Sherlock said. "So, why are we still alive?"

Peters smirk widened, "Now I see why Watson likes you so much. It's almost refreshing to meet someone as _disobedient_ as you."

"I'm accustomed to my own way." Sherlock answered with a shrug followed by the tensing of the guards' shoulders. "That was a major part of my childhood upbringing."

"I can tell." Peters said, his gaze raking over Sherlock's lithe form. "You look like you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth."

Sherlock refused to retort. Peters continued, "Oh, I'm bored now." He said with a deranged grin which made Sherlock feel uneasy again. Apparently stalling him wasn't going to work anymore. Peters lifted the gun to point directly at Sherlock's brow, "goodbye, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock didn't close his eyes. Didn't even blink. He knew what was coming. He'd felt John stir.

Something whipped through the air in front of his face and smashed into the side of the gun. Peters eyes widened as the gun went spiralling out of his hands. John had already jumped onto the table and was about to attack him when Sherlock turned on the guard. The guard was still a little confused about what was going on and so didn't expect the attack as Sherlock kneed him in the back with all his might. The guard screamed and dropped to the floor curling into the foetal position clutching at his injured back. Sherlock didn't even glance down at his handy work, knowing that the guard was down for the count. He hadn't mistaken the man's odd gait.

Sherlock turned back to John quickly and just in time to see John and Peters wrestling ferociously on the floor. Sherlock ran toward them but wasn't quick enough.

Peters punched John hard in the face and John tasted the tang of blood on his tongue. Still dazed from the blow he glanced around with glassy eyes to locate Peters only to see him nearing the wall where the pistol had rebounded off. John rolled onto his stomach and stood ready to face Peters again but as Peters reached for the gun John felt his confidence die. He leaned back slightly against a bookcase on the wall as Peters straightened and pointed the gun directly at John's heart.

Sherlock had hesitated as he'd watched Peters grab the gun. His heart was doing a frantic dance in his chest and his panic seemed to have frozen his muscles. Without realising it he'd become so emotionally involved in the situation that he couldn't think logically. That would not bode well for his and John's survival. He had to think clearly but he couldn't get past the fog in his brain screaming that he needed to save John and nothing else mattered. The fact was, he kept telling himself, he couldn't save John if he couldn't _think clearly._

Suddenly he felt the floor vibrate around his feet and he turned just in time to see the fist collide with his left eye. He hit the floor hard and leaving no time the guard rolled him over and pounded him again. Sherlock stared up at him, shocked. _Could I have been – _before he could finish the thought a loud groan came from the direction of the guard he'd finished and almost smiled. No, he hadn't been wrong. Of course he hadn't. He was never _wrong_.

With new found conviction he blocked the guards' punch with his arm, bucked wildly and threw the guard to the floor beside him. He grabbed a book end that had fallen to the floor during the fight and hit the guard in the temple, successfully silencing him.

Meanwhile Peters had pushed John against a nearby pillar with the gun mere inches from his heart.

"I bet you're regretting rejecting my offer now." Peters snarled with a smirk.

"Nope." John said with a smile making his bruised lips hurt. "I don't think I'll ever regret walking away from _you_."

Peters sighed and rubbed his brow, "You know I used to really respect and admire you, John." Then his face broke out into the most happy, deranged, child-like smile John had ever seen on the man. "Now all I want to do is shoot you."

John was really starting to debate whether Peters was sane at all when the lunatic turned the gun on him quickly. John leapt out of the way but stumbled over a fallen guard. _Oh great, _he thought rolling over to face Peters, _this is the end, isn't it?_

The ground was cold and hard, his head and body hurt in so many places he felt like he was just one big bruise and he really wanted to talk to Sherlock. Right then he wanted to tell him how much Sherlock meant to him. How much the kiss had meant to him. But it was too late for that now.

Peters raised the gun with a hearty laugh. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to do this."

Suddenly in a blur of motion Peters was no longer in front of John. John blinked and turned to where he'd seen the ball of clothes and limbs fall. There he saw Sherlock wrestling to get the gun out of Peters' hands and from what John could see, not winning. John rolled into a crouch quickly and ran over to where they were. Peters spotted him and with a grunt of exertion he pulled the gun to point at John. Before John could do anything Sherlock had moved swiftly between him and Peters effectively blocking the bullets path with his body. The crack of the pistol left the room in deathly silence. John stood still, frozen, waiting to wake up from this horrifying nightmare. But this wasn't a nightmare and Sherlock _was_ falling.

John hurried to him and caught him which just barely gave him some cushioning when he hit the hard-wood flooring. He saw the torn clothing and Sherlock's pained face set in a grimace and saw red. Peters was still laying where he had been before. He'd hardly moved. With one swift jab John punched up at his jaw and Peters head snapped back with a crunch. Peters was dazed by the blow and tried to stand but John was too quick for him. John kicked him in the stomach and as he doubled over on all fours, John grabbed the gun from his hand, wrapped a hand around his throat and slammed him into the floor. With tears in his eyes John pressed the gun between Peters' eyes.

"I trusted you!" John shouted into the quiet of the room. "I trusted you and you betrayed me! You betrayed Tod!"

Logan's eyes flashed, "I did what I had to!"

"You killed him because he rejected you!" John screamed. "Why did you have to do that?" John tightened his grip around Logan's throat and he grimaced.

Then Logan laughed. It was deranged, insane it truly showed just how lost this man was. Then he leaned against John's hand and hissed, "if I can't have him, nobody can."

John's tears splattered onto Logan's face as he shook his head, "That's sick. You're sick. And I don't think you can be helped." Without waiting for another crazy remark John pulled the trigger and released Logan's limp neck.

Without stopping to look at his work he ran to Sherlock's side, tears still fresh on his face. Sherlock hadn't moved and John took that as a very bad sign. He noticed blood on his stomach around the torn clothing and he closed his eyes and looked away.

"Shit, Sherlock don't die!" He cried croakily. "I couldn't cope if you died."

Sherlock turned his head and squinted up at John from where he lay. "John." He said softly reaching up to grab the lapel of his suit jacket. "John."

So blinded by grief and pain John didn't check the wound. Tears freely feel down onto Sherlock's once white shirt.

Sherlock sat up slowly with a pained grunt and took John's face into his hands. John started pulling away, "what are you–" Through John's glassy eyes he saw silver and then a soft pressure on his lips. Without meaning to, he closed his eyes and savoured the gentle contact for as long as possible. When it ended John was tingling from head to toe. Sherlock's gentle fingers brushed away his tears and John sniffled loudly.

"You're not really dying, are you?" John asked with a sigh.

Sherlock smirked back at him and pulled apart his open shirt revealing a very safe and protective looking bullet-proof vest. John had been in the army, he'd know and bullet-proof vest miles off.

John glared at Sherlock, "You just took advantage of me."

Sherlock's smirk didn't waver, "It was worth it."

John punched Sherlock in the face.

John slumped down in the seat of the cab and closed his eyes. Sherlock was rubbing his injured cheek and staring out the window.

Suddenly John remembered something very trivial. "So, where _did_ you go for that case? You never told me."

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. "I was in Germany."

John sat up in surprised and stared at Sherlock with wide eyes, "Germany?" He asked confused, "I thought I heard you talking to someone in Korean over the phone before the trip and then I heard something about Australia..."

Sherlock looked at John sceptically, "Australia?"

John nodded and waited for him to say something else. Sherlock stared back at John with a conflicted looking frown. "I was in Germany." He repeated.

John was still confused, "Did you not take the case in Australia?"

Sherlock turned away from John to stare out of the window of the cab with a distant expression, "No, I didn't."

"Why didn't you?" John asked. Sherlock had been getting quite worked up over the phone. It sounded like it might've been a good case.

Sherlock didn't answer for the longest time. He just sat and stared out of the window.

John was going to ask another question before he heard the quiet answer from the detective. "It was…" John noticed him swallow inconspicuously, "It was too far away from…" Sherlock closed his eyes and grimaced as though in pain, "from…"

Realising what he was going to say John reached over the detective's lap and brought his hand in between their seats to hold. Sherlock started at the sudden touch but didn't pull away. John was glad for that. "It's okay." John said. "You can shut up now."

Sherlock flashed him a nervous smirk and tightened his hold on John's fingers.

And right then… right at that moment… John felt like everything was falling into place.

* * *

><p><strong>Ah, yes. This is quite sexually suggestive and... yeah. It's my first kissing fic! I've never made 'em kiss before! Well there you have it! All passionate and intense... ooooooh I luuuuuuurve Sherlock!<strong>

** Logan Peters is pretty grotesque. And he's also pretty hypocrytically considering he's gay. Well, he's gay for Tod... I totally just made that name up on the spot but maybe I'll make a short fic about them... I like Peters in a weird he's-my-own-character-and-I-sort-of-like-how-deranged-he-his-and-he's-also-really-like-moriarty-and-i-just-realised-that-whoa-whoops-shit kind of way.**

**Anyway! I hoped you liked the second chapter! That's all folks! It was a TWO-SHOT! It's over now!**

**BUT rest assured I am TOTALLY going to be writing a sequel! Sort of...  
><strong>

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_Danke shon xx_


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